The brooding ghosts of Australian night have gone from the bush and town; My spirit revives in the morning breeze, though it died when the sun went down; The river is high and the stream is strong, and the grass is green and tall, And I fain would think that this world of ours is a good world after all.
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The light of passion in dreamy eyes, and a page of truth well read, The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold of the spirit I thought was dead, A song that goes to a comrade's heart, and a tear of pride let fall -- And my soul is strong! and the world to me is a grand world after all!
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